


Rest

by mywordsflyup



Category: Dragon Age - All Media Types, Dragon Age: Origins
Genre: Alternate Universe - Modern Setting, Established Relationship, F/M, Fluff
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-06-03
Updated: 2015-06-03
Packaged: 2018-04-02 18:06:00
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 744
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/4069489
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/mywordsflyup/pseuds/mywordsflyup
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>
  <i>She takes care of him with an almost effortless grace and endless smiles. And he might just be the worst patient she has ever tended to.</i>
</p><p>Amell takes care of a sick Alistair. Modern!AU.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Rest

She is silent patience as her cool fingers brush against his aching temples. She brings him tea and a chicken broth so strong he can feel the life coming back to him with every spoonful. She kisses him on the forehead, like a mother checking his temperature. Alistair would tease her about it if he were not too weak to come up with anything witty. And if he is honest with himself, the way she runs her thumb over his cheek with every kiss makes his stomach flutter.

She takes care of him with an almost effortless grace and endless smiles. And he might just be the worst patient she has ever tended to. He sniffles and complains and does exactly the opposite of what she wants him to do. She tells him as much when she replaces his empty cup of tea with a full one.

“Yesterday you insist of going for a run, even though I told you not to,” she says. “And now I'm supposed to feel bad for you?” It's a rebuke but the warmth in her voice betrays her.

He theatrically drapes one forearm over his eyes and groans. “Can't you do anything? And here I thought I married a healer! But she can't even cure a common cold!”

She scoffs. “There is no cure for the common cold. And apparently none for being a stubborn mule either.”

“I thought that was just an expression.” He lifts his arm and squints at the light, another wave of pain pounding behind his forehead. She notices his wince and steps around the coffee table to lean over him.

“Headache again?”

He nods, allowing himself a little pout. Slender fingers run over his temples and into his hair, soothing healing magic trailing in their wake. A sigh escapes his lips as the pain slowly ebbs away.

“Perhaps this healing thing is not so bad after all,” he says, which earns him a little smile.

“I can just help with the symptoms.” She grabs the empty mug and makes for the kitchen. “So you really should get some rest.”

But now that the pain is gone and she is not here to scold him immediately, he does not feel like sleeping at all. Quickly, before she comes back, he reaches for the remote which is wedged between the cushion of the couch and turns on the TV. When the familiar noise resounds through the apartment, he can hear her groan from the kitchen.

“I said rest, not Netflix!” she calls and he has to stifle a laugh at how annoyed she sounds. His antics are slowly but surely wearing down even her iron patience.

“This is resting,” he declares as he flips through the movies in his queue. “Just not the sleeping boring kind you had in mind. This is the fun kind where you cuddle up with me and we watch...” He reads the title of what he has chosen at random. “ _Misconceptions_. A three-hour miniseries.”

“That sounds absolutely awful,” she says from where she is leaning against the frame of the kitchen door, arms crossed in front of her chest.

“No, it's romantic.” He pats the empty space next to him on the couch. “A timeless love story of two people who are meant to be together but keep being pulled apart by their own pride and a series of unfortunate misunderstandings. At least that's what the description says.”

She rolls her eyes but joins him on the couch regardless. “So nothing like us.”

“Nothing like us,” he agrees. The fell into each other as easy as breathing. No misunderstandings, no uncertainty that could have filled a three-hour miniseries. The cards that were stacked against them back then were of a different kind. Unhappy circumstance rather than a lack of communication or affection.

But he is pulled from that dark place, gently as always, when he feels her hand on his chest as she curls up next to him, her head resting on his shoulder.

“You will catch my cold,” he warns but lifts the blanket for her anyway. She scoots even closer, sharing his warmth.

“If I do I'm sure I'll handle it better than you.”

Smiling, he buries his face in her blonde curls. He's sure he reeks of sweat and illness. But she smells like she always does. Of vanilla and sunshine and every corny metaphor he can think of.

“Without a doubt,” he says and presses play.  

**Author's Note:**

> You can also follow my [tumblr](http://damnable-rogue.tumblr.com) if you're interested.


End file.
